“In the Westminster police station-house, my lady, if she has not been already removed.  But I must tell your ladyship—­your grace, I mean—­how I happen to come to you now.  I was at the West End this morning, my lady, and in returning to the city I passed St. George’s Church, Hanover Square, and I saw the pageant of your wedding.  And when I got back to Westminster and looked into the station-house to see my unfortunate mistress, and to help her mind often her own troubles, I told her about the wedding of the Duke of Hereward with the heiress of Sir Lemuel Levison, at St. George’s Church, my lady.  She went off into the most terrible fit of excitement I ever seen her in yet, and I have seen her in some considerable ones, now I do assure your ladyship.  And in her raving and tearing, my lady, I first heerd that Mr. John Scott and the young Marquis of Arondelle and the Duke of Hereward was all one and the same gentleman, and he was the lawful husband of Rose Cameron.  My lady, I thought her troubles had turned her head, and so I did not believe a word she said.  And, my lady, I do not expect you to believe me without proof, any more than I believed her.”

“Oh, Heaven of Heavens!  I have the proof!  I have the proof in the evidence of my own senses, too fatally discredited until now.  But if you have further proof, give it me at once,” groaned Salome.

“Here is the marriage certificate.  Look at that first, my lady, if you please,” said Mrs. Brown, putting the document in her hands.

Salome gazed at it with beclouded vision, but she saw that it was a genuine certificate of marriage between Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Marquis of Arondelle, and, Rose Cameron, signed by James Smith, Rector of St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster, and witnessed by John Thomas Price, Sexton, and Ann Gray, Pew-opener.

“The man must have been mad! mad! to have done this, in the first instance, and then—­done what he has just this morning,” moaned Salome, as she returned the certificate to the woman.

“My lady, he thought as he had got Rose Cameron lagged, he would never be found out.  Here, my lady, is the first letter he wrote to her after they were married.  I reckon it is a foolish love-letter enough, not worth reading; but what I want you to notice is, his handwriting, and the way he commences his letter—­’My Darling Wife,’ and the way he ends it—­’Your Devoted Husband, Arondelle.’”

“I recognize the handwriting, and I note the signature.  I do not wish to read the letter,” muttered Salome, waving it away.

“Well, then, my lady, here is a photograph of his grace, given to his wife a few days before their marriage,” said the widow, offering a small card.

Salome took it, looked at it, and dropped it with a long, low wail of anguish.

It was a duplicate of one presented to herself by the Duke of Hereward, from the same negative.

Silence again fell between the lady and her visitor until it was broken by a rap at the door, and the voice of the maid without, saying: